Birthday Blahs
...well, that was the worst birthday ever.
Today I turned thirty--something that I was actually excited about. Rather than approach my thirties with a sense of trepidation, I had actually been looking forward to entering into a new decade. Something about defining my age with a new digit seemed inordinately exciting to me. It was as if I were being given a chance to reinvent myself. My twenties were mostly a jumble of writer's block and acute loneliness, but surely the Big 3-0 was going to be different.
I know it's only Day One, but so far I'm not impressed.
Maybe I'm being a bit unfair here, but it's kind of hard to maintain a sense of optimism when the only phone call you receive on your birthday is to inform you that your grandfather just passed away. Thirty, flirty and thriving? More like, thirty, lonely and grieving.
I thought it was bad on my twenty-sixth birthday, when I returned home from my birthday party, only to find my favorite rabbit Pippin dead in her cage, but this one takes the (non-existent) cake. I seriously hope this whole disaster-striking-on-my birthday thing isn't going to become some kind of tradition...out of all the things that I could possibly have in common with Buffy the Vampire Slayer, this one is pretty low on my wish list.
...I much would've preferred to have Spike jump out of a birthday cake. Maybe next year...